Of Partners & Crime
by weber12
Summary: Watson gets home and finds a huge box in the livingroom, with Holmes right next to it. He claims it's for academic purposes, but Watson only knows one thing: now they have a dog as a partner against crime.
1. Three Boxes on a Row

**Chapter One**

"**Three Boxes on a Row"**

Watson got to the lobby just to see Holmes leaning over a gigantic wooden box. It had holes in it, and had come in after someone knocked at the door some minutes earlier.

Her first impression was a flat NO WAY followed by several hypothetical speeches and the word "boundaries" flouting all around the air. None of it was spoken, as usual, but Watson knew a bit afterwards she'd wonder why she hadn't stopped the situation at that precise moment.

Holmes looked up and the shadow of a half-smile ran over his face.

"It's arrived, Watson. At last."

"What? Who? That box?"

Holmes nodded, excited. His big eyes were fully open.

"I've waited for months but it's finally here. I'll open it now, would you like to see?"

Watson was about to ask what was in the box when Holmes broke the seals and cracked it open. Inside was another box, but smaller. A dog cage, it seemed.

Another NO WAY burst in Watson's chest and made its way to her mouth.

Holmes was about to open the cage when she yelled.

"What is it, Watson?" he asked, faking innocence, and getting back to his unlocking.

Here Watson regretted her previous decision of not saying anything.

"You didn't get a dog, Sherlock. You couldn't have," explained Watson, quickly. She muttered a lot and couldn't believe what lay before her eyes.

Holmes finished with the lock and examined the interior.

"Not a mere dog, Watson," he replied, and stood up. "It is a most exquisite, finely hand-bred hunting dog and, I must add, a future partner," he glanced at her seriously, standing tall.

"You wouldn't have gotten a dog without my consent, since we are partners already, d'you remember?" she said, annoyed. The idea just seemed illogical, completely out of madness. "What would you like a dog for? Here?! We can't have any pets or an-" she started.

Holmes interrupted her with a hand movement.

"It's not a pet, Watson. It isn't now and it won't be. It is an experiment of my own, and, as it is required by the experiment, a future partner. Now, please hand me over that box."

Beside the stairs, a third box previously used to keep books had been covered in newspapers and was ready to receive a new occupant. The books were over the table in the living room.

Watson gave it to Holmes and continued.

"Sherlock, I think you don't understand. I live here too, and as we had agreed to do with other chores, a dog is a common responsibility; in fact, it is an _enormous_ responsibility, and you're not prepared for that!"

Ignoring her, Holmes put his hands inside, and softly pulled out a dead weight. He put it on the third box, even smaller, and proceeded to extract the remains of the other two to the street.

"Not to mention," added Watson, "that you didn't even tell me of your ideas months ago when you thought of getting the dog!" She followed him around the house as she spoke. He seemed to bare all the scolds without a noise. "Why aren't you answering to me?!"

He turned to face her.

"Truth is, Watson, that I ordered the item before I was out rehab. This animal has been on my plans for some months now, and since I have it handy, why wouldn't I continue with the experiment? I'm actually excited about the possible discoveries. I'm writing a monograph-"

"To hell with your monographs!" she shouted. "Sherlock, why didn't you tell me? This is a big thing, y'know. It's a living being, not an item, look at it!"

Saying so, Watson then noticed the dog. They were by the stairs again, and she truly saw it for the first time. It wasn't a very large animal, and it didn't have, it seemed, a definite breed. It looked a bit like a Cocker Spaniel, though, with bits here and there of other hunting dogs. A medium sized tail, mainly brown body, a quite short snout. Nothing special about it but the fact that the_ item_ looked cute and was asleep.

She turned to Holmes, who was resisting a smile. He raised a hand with a pamphlet in it.

"These are the item's papers. Instructions. I have now become the proud owner of a Moffet Dog."


	2. A Moffet Dog

**Chapter Two**

"**A Moffet Dog"**

Just like that, Watson had had to sit down on a sofa and wait for the idea to get to her.

She revaluated the situation. That very same morning, when she went out to run, Sherlock Holmes and she lived in an apartment. She came back to said place, went upstairs for a shower, and when she got down, a dog in a box had arrived and both were now part of the furniture, apparently.

Holmes handed her a cup of tea, and sat down besides her. He played a bit with the papers he had showed to her before, and, a bit more calmed, Watson decided it was time to bomb questions again.

"What are those?" she said, trying to ignore Holmes' eyes. "You mentioned... Instructions? What for? What is this?"

Holmes hushed her before she exploded.

"As I told you, these are the item's papers. I purchased a dog some time ago, and it comes with papers. It is a special dog, Watson. A very fine creature," he got nearer, excited. "It is the result of a series of other person's experiments with hunting dogs. It has taken years to the breeder to create that little one you see over there."

Here Watson glanced at the animal once more. The box was all she saw, though, but no sound came out of it yet.

"Why is it called a Moffat Dog?" she asked, "Is it... because of the breeder, I suppose."

"A Moffet Dog, Watson. And yes, it is called so because of the breeder. It's not a real breed, actually, but it's the name commonly given to these dogs. They have been quite successful among their circles for some years now, and I decided to purchase one for my experiment."

"What experiment?" asked Watson, completely done with the situation. Her frustration was getting out of place now.

"One it occurred to me some years ago. I did research, I made up my mind, I solicited the item, I waited, and here it is."

Watson opened her eyes.

"You're telling me that animal has been made for you?!"

"In a way. I understand it had already been born when I wrote to the Moffet Company asking for one."

"That's just crazy," mentioned Watson. "What sort of experiment is this?"

Holmes leaned towards her even more, with a playful look.

"This is when the brilliance of the plan comes up. Humans have utilized all other species in the world for their benefit, but very few have really explored how these... relations, to other creatures, can work. I mean to understand, dominate and use this sort of partnership, and, in order to accomplish that, I need another species specimen to try it."

"Why a dog? Couldn't you get another turtle?"

Holmes looked a bit puzzled.

"I chose a dog because canines have been broadly favourites among human beings. If the experiment fails, I can dispose of the item easier than with other animals," he said, as if it was obvious. "Also, this Moffet Dog called my attention. You see, Watson, how it has been specifically made to be used? Servility throughout the ages and ancestors, all of it condensed in one dog, combined with the most strict and effective training, have made this the ideal animal to experiment with."

"And that experiment would be what, exactly?"

Holmes waited a bit before he answered.

"I have the intentions to make it a partner against crime. The Police use dogs all the time to track specific smells. I intend to invest it in similar errands, but before I'll interact with the item, get to understand it, make it understand me."

"How on Earth you plan to do that?!"

"Well, I've been studying canine psychology and other matters of the sort to be better prepared, but there's also the paper I have here," he raised it again. "It contains Mr. Moffet's instructions to get acquainted with the dog," Holmes expanded it over the table. Watson leaned to see it. "The man explains the animal's virtues and flaws," continued he, "It is a detailed description of the training this year-old dog has been under, and how to continue it. How to teach it, how to help it understand human language and desires. It states different ways in which both dog and owner can practice and work together. I suppose once I manage the theory in here, I'll be able to work from this on, and move to different levels, if my experiment succeeds."

Both looked at the dog. Holmes felt impelled to add something else.

"If I succeed, it can be beneficial to other people. They can learn more about animals and how to use them 100% effectively."

Watson said nothing for a long time. Finally, she clucked, tilt her head, and said, a bit puzzled herself:

"So, you're saying that you're gonna take that dog, you're gonna befriend it, teach it tricks, and then dispose as you like of it? Like a puppet?"

Holmes nodded.

"Yeah, pretty much, in simpler words."

"That can't be."

"Why not?"

"You don't commit to anything and anyone, Sherlock!" said Watson, feeling she was being a bit harsh. "I won't take care of the dog when you get bored, so it won't stay."

"I believe your fears natural, Watson," replied Holmes, "but that won't happen. It is my experiment, and I'll take charge of it."

It was Watson's time to examine Holmes interior. She looked directly in his eye, peeling, unravelling, twisting, deducing.

"I won't clean up any mess of his, I won't give him any food, I won't do anything for that dog except to stand it near myself, is that clear?" said Watson, firmly.

"Crystal clear," agreed Holmes, quite satisfied. "I never intended less."

"And just for a week," added she. "It'll be a test."

"Fair enough."

Things calmed a bit after that. Watson felt Holmes sincere in this matter, but she didn't know why. After all, a dog wouldn't be so bad. She liked animals. But Holmes was the one that she worried about, what could he do to that poor brute?

"How much it cost?" she asked, waking herself from her thoughts.

"Much more than any other pedigreed horse," he raised his eyebrows.

"Ouch."

"No if it works out well."

"What if it doesn't?"

"My father will complain."

"So he knows of this."

"He'll get to know, eventually."

"Why?"

"There's a bill someone's got to pay. It is quite expensive to send an anesthetized animal all over an ocean to New York."

Watson almost laughed.

"Where did it come from?!"

"England," Holmes glanced at her, serious again. "Where but there could I find a man specialized in hunting dogs?"

They both rested, staring at the carton box next to the stairs. A somewhat furry tail peeked out of it.

"I insist you won't have to take care of her, Watson," stated Holmes, looking other way.

"_Her_? It's a she?" Watson smiled.

"Yes," and Holmes raised the front page of the pamphlet again, showing her the basic information. In that moment, a sound came out of the box.

Their muscles tensed, nervous to the first encounter. Holmes got up, went to the kitchen, came back with a bowl in his hands, and headed to the box. He stood before the place the dog would look at when she first opened her eyes in her new home.

Some minutes later, the dog moved its head, opened the eyes and looked up philosophically. There was Holmes' face, who couldn't help an almost imperceptible smile.

"Let me introduce you, my dear Watson, to Ivy, the hunting dog."


	3. Ivy, the Hunting Dog

**Chapter Three**

"**Ivy, the Hunting Dog"**

Watson stood up and went towards them.

"You're calling her Ivy?" she said, leaning besides the box. "That's a cute name. I like it."

Somehow, she felt a bit more supportive about this than she ought to be, she thought.

The dog blinked rapidly, probably feeling dizzy. She tried to move once or twice, but fell down again. Holmes caressed her head with a hand and with the other pressed her gently against the ground.

"Not just yet, Ivy," he whispered, fixating his gaze completely on her.

The dog's twinkling eyes explored his face, her nose moving softly up and down.

Watson beheld and awed.

"Ivy," she repeated, and reached out to touch the pet's back.

It had a nice, clean, silky coat. The dog felt even better than it looked.

After a while, Holmes rose, leaving Ivy to her movements. Watson retrieved her hand, wondering what would happen next.

However, Sherlock simply approached the bowl, full of water, to the dog, allowing her to drink. Apparently, the dog started to feel her old self again. She stood, smelled the bowl's content, and then drank vividly. When she got enough, Ivy held up her head, examining the room. She turned around goofily and faced Watson, to whom she moved her tail.

"Stand up and hold up your hand, Watson," said Holmes, whose eyes twinkled almost as his dog's. "She wants to greet you."

Watson, a bit confused, did as she was told.

The dog, impressively, approached then Watson's hand, smelled it curiously, and then panted, as if smiling. She seemed satisfied, Watson thought. Then she caressed the dog's head, which didn't move.

Joan Watson smiled satisfied, too. She liked the dog. She looked up to Holmes, who smiled back.

"Ivy," called he, and the dog turned immediately to him, seeing directly to his blue eyes. Holmes held the gaze. "You see, Watson, she has spirits. She's looking directly into my eyes. I must prove myself worthy of her presence."

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

"Not with a Moffet Dog. She had a worthy leader. Now I must be one. Even better, if I can."

Watson raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah..."

"No, no, it's true. Wait and see, Watson. Wait and see."

So Watson waited.


	4. Routines

**Chapter Four**

"**Routines"**

The wait wasn't long before Watson began noticing a pattern in Holmes' actions and the dog's reactions.

First, it came the matter of what Holmes called "the following."

It consisted, mainly, in teaching Ivy to follow Holmes everywhere. According to the pamphlet –or so Holmes said–, it was of vital importance to make the dog learn that there was a person to whom she must follow and see as a leader wherever she was. To accomplish that, Holmes recurred to a variety of gambits Watson wasn't sure she had seen all of. Noises came out of the rooms where he and the dog "practiced," which, as much as Watson could say, was in fact a re-enacting of Exupery's Little Prince and the Fox's taming scene. He insisted on feeding the dog for the first three weeks, too. No other creature was to touch the dog's bowl or food, and no other food was to be given to the animal but that provided by her strict master. There was also some yelling, some tying up, and the dog's bed being put in Holmes' room. Although there were different and even stranger ways in which Holmes "taught" Ivy to see him as her leader, the truths was that, eventually, Ivy needed not a leash nor force to follow Holmes around. By the end of the first month, he moved freely in and outside the house, the dog always following him at the strong sound of "Heel!"

One night, just after dinner was finished, Holmes stared at his dog in her bed, and, sensing Watson behind him, began talking.

"It's done, Watson."

"What? The experiment?" she replied lightly, but hopeful inwards.

"The first phase. I am the dog's master now. Everything flows as I had planned."

"You say..."

"Patience, Watson. All signs predict good results. Let's hope their predictions are not blurred."

Watson rolled her eyes and didn't discuss the matter further. It seemed outrageous to her to treat a dog in that way.

Secondly, the matter of tricks appeared. That's what Watson called them, but Holmes referred to them as "complex instructions."

In this way, Holmes spent most of his time saying words, making Ivy understand what he desired at such sounds, and then rewarding her somehow after she had accomplished what he desired. However, the variety of instructions he insisted her to understand were beyond Watson's ideals. "Sit" or "Stay" weren't enough, she thought, for Holmes' ego. No, the dog had to understand not only "Fetch" or "Stay" or "Heel," it had to know what "Run," "Bite," "Beg," "Roll" and "Keep" meant. Her surprise reached a peak a month later the second phase had begun.

"The dog has to recognise certain objects in her surroundings," Holmes had declared to none in particular one afternoon.

In this way, "Ball," "Paper," "Keys," "Phone," "Plate," "Remote" and other many became part of the dog's vocabulary.

"You gonna get her mad," replied Watson, to Holmes explicitly, five days afterwards.

"No, she has Border Collie genes for some reason," was the careless comment.

Things reached their climax that same afternoon.

Watson was in the living room, when suddenly Ivy appeared at her side. She caressed the dog's head, and Holmes' voice sounded right next to her, on the other side.

"Watson," the voice said, firmly.

Watson turned quickly, startled.

"What the hell?" she demanded, as politely as she could.

"Ivy's knowledge about specific objects has proved more than pleasant. It's time she learns rooms and pieces of furniture. I decided to begin with you. She is in contact with you, and I say your code name out loud. And that's what you are. Watson."

The doctor's eyebrows almost disappeared below her fringe.

"_I'm_ a piece of furniture?"

"For our purpose, yes. No offense given."

She felt Ivy's nose exploring her hand.

"Watson," Holmes repeated to the dog.

Watson had taken enough, stood up and walked away. Her anger was more than enough. The dog had behaved properly for two months, and there seemed to be progress, but him calling her a piece of furniture? She might as well hit him in the chin and smash his eyeballs against the dog's bowls.

The next morning, however, she woke at a scratching at her door. She first thought it had been a dream, but it sounded again when she barely opened her eyes to the unfamiliar sound. The scratching was soft, but consistent.

She got out of bed and opened it. Ivy's eyes and tail welcomed and thanked her on the other side.

"Everything alright, sweetie?" she said, caressing the dog with affection.

Ivy replied licking her hands and, then, softly, almost respectfully, bit Watson's pyjamas and pulled towards the stairs.

Watson didn't know that trick. She was confused for a moment, but when the dog insisted in pulling her from her pyjamas, she let the dog lead on. Ivy directed Watson downstairs, through the living room and, then, into the kitchen.

Holmes sat there in a chair, smiling broadly.

Ivy pulled Watson until they got in front of Holmes, and then, the dog released her prisoner. The detective patted the dog's head, proud, and gave her a reward.

"What did just happen?" asked his partner.

"I told Ivy to fetch Watson," said Holmes, eyes shining. "And she did."

Watson didn't know how to reply.

"If it hasn't occurred to you, Watson, I hypothetically just called for help. And the call worked."

Both looked at the dog, which panted happily. Watson beamed and looked at Holmes.

As an answer, he simply smiled back.


End file.
